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JOHNSON BROS PTG- CO 

STATIONERS. PRINTERS AND Bl 

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS. 




Jerry Newton 



76 3 6-*'/ 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

T.j/o Coptes REOtivEO 

iUL. 15 1902 

COPVSIOHT ENTRY 

CLASS O-XXc. No. 
COPY e. 



s H u *^ 












Entered according to the Act of Congress 
in the year 1902, hj Jerry Neivton, in-^the 
oMce of the Librarian of Congress at 
Washington. 






(A. 11 rig-hts reserved.) 



To the Telegraph Fraternity I affectionately 
dedicate this little book. 

J. N. 



PREFACE. 

I presume a preface to this little volume is not absolutely essential ; 
still I think I had better have one, as a kind of a starter. Now, it is a 
matter of taste (in my estimation) whether or not the author of a book 
tells when and where he was born, or whether he makes any claims to 
being born at all; but as a preliminary shift, and to fill in, I will say 
that about the year ??? A. D., on the 12th day of Februarj', in the 
afternoon (this was handed down to me) I was ushered into this conflict, 
which occurrence took place in the sunk lands of Missouri, if you know 
that location. That was in 1812. (This refers to the year in which 
the seismatic disturbance took place, and not to the year of my birth. 
I was partially reared among the amphibious and odoriferous species 
of which that section was then prolific. It was in the midst of such 
surroundings that I began feeling a little poetic (queer wasn't it?). 
Now, my friends, I shall feel pleased if you may find some- 
thing in this book that will entertain you (don't all speak at once). 
You may find expressions herein that will appeal to, and reach 
a tender chord, I hope so, for we all enjoy a touch of pathos at times. 
And as, in my fancy flights, I have dropped from the sublime to the 
ridiculous (I trust not too suddenly). I hope you will find something 
that will tend to enlist your interest and arouse j'our mirth. If I suc- 
ceed in reaching the pathetic side of your make-up or cause you to 
enjoy one real, hearty laugh, I shall feel abundantly rewarded. 

I have piloted this office (have been Manager) for twenty years, and 
have written these poems between acts, as it were; that is, I have appro- 
priated a few moments' time, now and then, from the service of the 
great Western Union Telegraph Company, whose confidence I have 
enjoyed for thirty-five years, I will ask, however, that you treat the 
above remark as sub-rosa, I would not wish the friends of iny life to 
know that I ever purloined anj^thing from them. If, in perusing this 
book, 3'ou find anything seasoned too highly, or on the other hand that 
lacks zest, for the same I offer an apology. You know 'tis manly to 
acknowledge one's faults, as well as human to err, and Divine to for- 
give. (This is not original — with me). 

THE AUTHOR. 



INTRODUCTORY. 

To readers of this book, 
Whether humble or swell, 

I will take you to haunts, 
Of your childhood to dwell. 

And I trust that an hour, 
You may sweetly beg-uile, 

Should it cause you a tear. 
May it cause you a smile. 



RETROSPECTION. 

^ :!iz ^ :^ 

(Written December 28, 1895 ) 

As I sit here to-nig-ht, with the past all 
ag-leam, 

To my sad weary soul, it seems only a 
dream. 

By fond memory's touch, I look back over 
the year, 

And find link'd tog-ether, joys and sor- 
rows both dear. 

As each ember is dying-, that lengthening- 
chain, 

Reaches back to old haunts, and my loved 
ones ag-ain, 

Where beams from their luster, chased 
away all the gloom. 

Before I long'd for a voice to come from 
the tomb. 

Through the mysteries beyond, those dear 

to me roam, 
But the Angels I'm sure, have welcomed 

them home 
To realms enchanted, where the portals 

ajar. 
Awaited their entrance to that region afar. 

When moonbeams at eve, over their silent 

tombs creep. 
Where they lie under the sod, in cold 

dreamless sleep. 
With my tear-drops I nourish the verdure 

and vine, 
While their spirits in sympathy mingle 

with mine. 



As rays shoot from heaven, tranquil, brig-ht, 
soothing- g-leams 

O'er the clouds oft I'm roaming-, in sweet- 
est of dreams ; 

'Mid little stars twinkling, many faces I see, 

And as they draw nearer, comes some 
solace to me. 

On the verge now I totter of a home 'neath 

the clay, 
With my head bowed with years, I must 

thitherward stray. 
And while looking back, bidding- the Old 

Year adieu, 
I'm wondering what is stored for me in the 

New. 




TO RUSSELL SAGE. 

* * * * 

Now, three score years and ten, and more, 

Have been allotted you 
With hoary locks, intrepid yet, 

Your spirit won't subdue. 

Bewrit with time's enlig-htening- touch 

And vig-orous with your age, 
Courag-eous, brave, undaunted too, 
Sag-acious, prudent Sage. 

A land-mark left almost alone 

To mark ye olden way, 
Renowned for master intellect 

Still multitudes you sway. 

Resourceful, with discernment quick, 

Discreet in every deed : 
With hig-h esteem, we venerate; 

May Heaven be your meed. 

Grand, g-ood old man with years fatigued. 

But zealous, staunch and true, 
God's will be done; may many more 

Bring- happiness to you. 




SIEGE OF THE ALAMO. 

* * * * 

Hope for relief so long- deferred — 
Their melancholy fate was sealed; 

The promised succor did not come, 
Stern realities were revealed. 

Thoug-h solemn and unwelcomed facts 
The g-loomy crisis seemed at hand, 

And ere another sun had paled 

Death might claim their heroic band. 

When disappointment bow'd his head 
The chieftain with emotions stood 

Before his band of patriots 

And told the facts as best he could. 

And then he traced upon the g-round 
A line for those who would remain 

To cross, and show their willing-ness 
That all together should be slain. 

Save only one, e'en sick and sore, 
Undaunted courage then displayed. 

And Santa Ana's blood-red flag 

Their g-reat devotion never swayed. 

Grand Alamo, formidable 

Appeared to those without its walls, 
But Santa Ana g-oads his hords, 

And tyrant he, brave men appalls. 

No mercy lurked within his breast. 
But Travis, while his flag still soared, 

Rejected every offer made 

While shot flew hot and canon roared. 



Day after day they were besieged 
And stormed within their citadel, 

The "DEQUELO" sounds, walls are scaled, 
Brave Travis with his comrades fell. 

A Mother found with nursing- babe 

In the bitterest of despair, 
A touch of mercy rescued them 

From harm, the din, and carnage there. 

Then Santa Ana held brief sway. 
His acts inhuman were complete. 

In vict'ry most detestable, 
Inherent, also in defeat. 

Brave Houston and his valiant band 
With daring made the viper yield, 

When Texas earned the benison 
On San Jacinto's glorious field. 



AM I DREAMING? 

* * * * 

Written December 31, 1897. 

Just watch the sun-beams kissing- out 
With warm caress, but fading- hue 

The dying- year, but in the morn 

They'll shed effulg-cnce o'er the new. 

Comes a whisper as the echo 

Is flashing- back o'er hill and dale, 

And I list with eag-er waiting 

While peering- through time's mist}- veil. 

Is it phantom, or what is it? 

Some fond enchantment from the past? 
Can it be that I am dreaming 

Of sacred thing-s that could not last? 

Visions born of retrospection. 
Now flit before my fancy's gaze; 

Be they spirits of my loved ones, 

Come back to charm these New Year 
days? 

Sweetest incense o'er the landscape 
Is wafted fresh on every breeze. 

This may be a g-limpse of Heaven, 
That my anxious vision sees. 

'Round the fireside is Mother, 
She's sitting- in her old arm-chair, 

And there's Father with the Bible, 
He's ready for the evening- prayer. 

In her little nig-ht-gown fluffy, 

Throug-h tears that come so full and free, 
I can see my sister kneeling- 

For good-nig-ht prayer at Mother's knee. 



Hear the little darling- lisping-: 
" Now I lay me down to sleep;" 

In her trundle she reposes, 

While Ang-els 'round her vigils keep. 

As my dream g-rows realistic, 

Home of my childhood comes so bright 
Thro' the rifts in clouds that's broken, 

Rays are coming- soft and light. 



A SKELETON IN THE CLOSET; 

OR WE ALL HAVE THEM. 



* * * * 



Into a house one day it stroll'd, 

A skeleton sere-g^hastly, 
And told the folks 'thad come to stay 

To their sorrow vastly. 

It peered into each little nook, 
Its gaze was fierce and grim, 

And when he spied the closet door 
Said that would do for him. 

He ope'd the door and entered in 
Though through a flood of tears. 

And has remained a stigma there, 
For lo ! these many years. 

This shall be my abiding place. 

Through the future ages. 
Family hist'ry will hand me down, 

Not on printed pages. 

The episode will be kept fresh 

Among your descendants. 
For Mother gossip never dies, 

She quotes with amendments. 

Be not dismayed but keep good cheer 

For our name is legion, 
In every household one you'll find. 

In this and ev'ry region. 

It may seem strange to some I'm sure, 

Nevertheless 'tis true, 
That every household in the land 

Has one and sometimes two. 

13 



The following- telegram was received 
from Mrs. Baker, wife of our deceased and 
lamented Superintendent : 

St. Louis, Mo., October 29, 1901, 
To J. L. Newton, 

San Antonio, Texas. 
Will you please send me some seeds from that 
castor-bean tree that is at the back door of your 
office. All well, send love. 

(Signed.) Mrs. L. C. Baker. 

MY REPLY. 

That castor-bean tree is now a thing of the 

past, 
It bad to yield to old ag-e, and death's 

chilly blast, 

I'll hunt up some beans from a tree full of 
vig-or, 

That will stand the fury of a St. Louis 
rigfor. 



GLEAMS OF THE PAST. 

?}; :tc ^ ;i< 

I swing" open the blinds 

Between now and the past, 
And the bright golden gleams 

They are flashing so fast, 
To and fro down the aisle 

Through the years that are gone, 
Save only to memory 

Wich is still living on. 

As from under the tomb 

Over expanse so bltak, 
Sweetest whispers I hear 

"Oh, speak to me, speak," 
Do not turn away now 

When all the joys are gone, 
Be brave, it is darkest 

Just before a bright dawn. 

I take down my casket 

Holding jewels for years, 
I 've culled from my joys, 

From my sorrows, my tears. 
And dear, there is nothing 

Which the casket now holds, 
That is sweeter to mem'ry 

Than our story unfolds. 

Each cloud has its lining. 

Each heart, too, its pain. 
There'll creep into each life 

Clouds again and again. 
But love's sweetest halo 

Will force its way through, 
To lighten the burden 

Of this sorrow for you. 

15 



With an object not tickle, 

But still constant and true, 
No vows yet are broken 

That were plig-hted to you, 
And, dear, I'll be loyal, 

Yes, true to the last, 
For waiting is sweetened 

With gleams of the past. 



THE GOSSIPER. 

^ ^ jf; ^ 

(Now, do not be offended, this does not apply to you./ 

From early morn on the street's she is 

seen, 
Till evening- sun hides its beautiful sheen, 
With venemous tong-ue like a poisonous 

dart, 
She defiles the g-ood and the pure in heart. 

Her manner is mild, deceptive, serene, 
And her heart is as false as 'tis unclean. 
Her soul will be filled with sad dismay, 
When from the golden gate she's turned 
away. 

No serpent a tongue has equal to her's, 
Mock sympathy profuse, crockodile tears. 
From morning till evening her voice is 

strong, 
And laden with gossip all the day long. 

But there's a day to come not off afar 
There'll be a reck'ning at the judgment 

bar, 
With gnashing of teeth and a mournful 

wail, 
She will be turned away, this creature frail. 

At the Shrine of God she prays with a vim, 
Belabors the wicked and regions dim, 
But St. Peter guarding the g-olden stair, 
Will see that she never passes in there. 

She may sing and chant at the Golden Gate 

Of her life on earth so immaculate. 

She may pra\' good prayers, and pray them 

long. 
But good St. Peter won't list to her song. 

17 



On the Golden Shore only pure in mind 
Are permitted around the Mystic Shrine, 
And if by her wits she should arable in 
They'd spear St. Peter with a javelin. 

And the Lord on his Throne would look 
serene, 

Then His Ang-el band he would soon con- 
vene, 

And Peter with his staff, Gabriel to blow, 

They'd escort her down to the regions low. 

Her doom bein^ sealed she'll have to g-o 

below. 
Where the firey furnaces are ag-low; 
She's served satan long-, her hair is hoary. 
He may crown her when in purg-atory. 

Well, that is the way all g-ossipers go. 
It's a wonder that sheol don't overflow, 
But the monarch mig-ht rent some hotter 

place 
To accommodate such a populace. 



SAMPLES OF NEW YEAR'S 
GREETINGS, 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

WRITTEN FOR MY MESSENGER BOYS. 

A Merry Christmas and a happy New Year, from the West- 
era Union Telegraph Messenger boys. 
1891. 1892. 

Who runs all day, ne'er stops to play, 

For business takes the bun? 
Lightning- boys don't monkey with toys 

Nor join in sports or fun. 

Now curb-stone chats with other brats 

He wouldn't enter into, 
'Twould cause delays in many ways, 

Then, 'twould be a sin to. 

Sparks and flashes, dots and dashes, 

Chang-ed to messag-es plain, 
He handles with care that is rare. 

Through sunshine, storm or rain. 

Warm hearted gents a few odd cents, 

Give the messenger boy. 
Fill him with cheer, just once a year 

And joy without alloy. 



Another. 

1804. 

Greeting and a hearty good will, 

To all mankind much real joy, from 

The Western Union's main support, 
The Telegraph Messenger boy. 

He's the most important factor 
Of the great Western Union Co., 

His machinery is ELECTRIC, 
Because his business makes it so. 

His movements are all in DASHES, 
And he steps the longest SPACES, 

Yes, the earth with him is DOTTED 
As he speeds to different places. 

He's a RELAY and REPEATER, 
He's SOUNDER than the very best ; 

Just KEY him up with sheckles now, 
And see him strive to do the rest. 



20 



TAKE BACK THE RING YOU GAVE 
ME. 



Take back the ring- you gfave me, 

The charm is broken now, 
'Twas once a band of plighted love 

And many a sacred vow. 

I fain would love to treasure it 

As in the days of yore, 
But, thoug-h with sorrow, I confess 

'Tis my talisman no more. 

With fervent kiss you placed it on 

My fing-er long- agfo. 
And vows of sweetest love v/ere made 

From hearts that were aglow. 

I've often bathed these jewels rare 

In floods of scalding- tears. 
And prayed that I might you reclaim 

Throug-h all these weary years. 

I would not mar one joy of thine, 

I only ask for rest. 
And surcease from keen sorrow pangs 

That lurk within my breast. 

Yes, take it back let memory fade, 
Let clouds flo^t quite between 

The happy days of long- ag-o 
That you and I have seen. 

The fickle fates have lured you on. 

Temptation laid its snare. 
Forgetting all you promised me. 

Discarded now you are. 

Go place it on some other hand. 
Whose wearer ne'er will know, 

The bitterness it brought to me. 
And years of weary woe. 

21 



SAMPLES OF CONGRATULATORY 

TELEGRAMS GOTTEN UP FOR 

DIFFERENT FRIENDS 

AMONG MY 
JEWISHACQUAINTANCES. 

* ;}; >K 5j< 

Farewell, dear Sam, from all the bachellors 
and boys, 

You will soon be surrounded by plaything's 

and toys. 
May chips from the old blocks fall all 

around, 

And grow into big- blocks — just as sturdy 
and sound. 



Another. 

(The gentleman's name is Gardiner, his wife's name Emma.) 

You've found a garden with a thornless 

rose. 
The place as yet, it seems, no buds disclose. 
You are a GARDINER — in no dilemma. 
You may find some buds, by the aid of 

Emma. 



Another. 

Here's a hearty g-ood wish for years of joy. 
May you first be bless'd with a charming- 
boy. 
And as you move on throug-h the social 
swirl, 

May your efforts reveal a sweet little g-irl, 

22 



Another. 

Thou art gone, Martin dear, from blessed- 
ness sing-le. 

Though with sweeter sweets now existence 
will mingle, 

May fruits of this union fill your cup full 
of joys, 

Your purse full of bank-notes, your home 
girls and boys. 



Another. 

(My friend, Alex. Joske,oneof ourmostprominentinerchants, 
was blessed with a lovely girl the night before he sent the follow- 
ing- to a friend, who married on the next morning', in Dallas, 
Texas.) 

I'm merry this morn, we're bless'd with a 

pair, 
A girl came last night, a specimen rare, 
We're thinking of you in sympathy pure, 
We know, to compete, you've much to 

endure. 

We congratulate you and wish much joy, 
May your first, like ours, be a charming boy. 
If time wuth his wand will give the right 

twirl, 
There may be assigned a gem of a girl. 




23 



I STILL CHERISH THY NAME. 

^ >}; >ic :;i< 

As time in its swift flig-ht 

Made you withered and gray, 
Robb'd your cheek of the tint, 

Swept the bloom all away; 
Suppressed were your smiles 

Which all time cannot hide, 
But still faithful my buoy 

Ever close by my side. 

As I turn back to thee 

Through the much tang-led past, 
Love's whispering- thy name, 

Could the reverie but last, 
The footprints are dimmed. 

Almost obscured they seem, 
But your name as my star, 

I can g-o by its beam. 

The grim reaper came in, 

Snatched away my delight, 
Left me only your name 

When your soul took its flight. 
We cannot undo, but 

God's work must remain, 
And the heart must bear on 

The sharp sting of the pain 

Still how dear to my heart 

When I feel you are nigh, 
Reminiscence is sweet. 

But there oft comes a sigh. 
While smiles and tears mingle 

And the fates I deplore, 
I still cherish thy name. 

Though I see thee no more. 

24 



MY OLD RECORD BOOK. 

-I* -j' -T» -1^ 

We're speeding- on, years fall behind 

The curtain one by one, 
The future veiled, we hope and fear 

As we have ever done. 

Back to the days of other scenes 

We drift away in dreams, 
And fancy's throug-h the rifts in mists 

Now flint along- with gleams. 

I scan each line from page to page 

And transfer to the new. 
The names of all my force that's here, 

And pass it out from view. 

T'is like some tried and true old friend 
Whose usefulness has waned, 

And sacred memories linger there 
'Twixt pages unprofaned. 

Its bindings now are old and sere, 

Its leaves are faded too. 
Within its stained and timeworn folds 

Are records of the true. 

I now consign it to the files, 

Abandoned there to lay, 
With deeds and names of those still here, 

And some who've pass'd away. 



^^ 



25 



THE DUDE. 

* * * ;lc 
Written February 9, 1897. 

The spider-leg-g-ed dude, 

He thinks he's perfection; 
If I am in error 

I stand for correction. 
Take him just as you please 

Either dress'd up or nude, 
He is g-one on his shape, 

The spider-legfg-ed dude. 

He promenades the street 

With eye-glasses and cane. 
And a silk umbrella 

With such haug-hty disdain. 
When he meets young ladies 

He is frequently rude, 
For they sometimes remark: 

"Let us hide, there's a dude. 

Dudes are very brassy 

And have wonderful gall, 
They will run their faces 

For large bills or small. 
Their creditors with g-race 

They will try to elude - 
The masher, the wasp-like, 

Egotistical dude. 

Soliloquising he : 

'T'is my night for the rink. 
You'll perceive in my garb 

I'm as neat as a pink. 
My style can't be surpass'd. 

For I'm not at all crude, 
I know they will all say — 

What a dear little dude." 

26 



" I'll step round the corner 

And imbibe a few straig-ht 
To steady my nerves, when 

I cut the figure eig-ht. 
By the crowd g-reat or small 

I know I'll be viewed. 
Why not? I'm perfection 

In the way of a dude." 

A dude sometimes at church 

Tries to sing in the choir, 
Endeavors to look grave 

And confidence inspire. 
We are not here to judge. 

And we must not conclude; 
He may be in earnest, 

Silly, didapper dude. 



27 



THE FOLLOWING PIECE IS COM- 
POSED OF THE NAMES OF 
SONGS, EACH LINE BEING 
THE NAME OF A SONG. 

* * * * 

'Irreg'ular.) 

Angel ever brig-ht and fair, 
With eyes so blue and tender, 

Only to see thy face again, 

The sweet face at the window. 

Sweet spirit hear mj' prayer, 

Wilt thou my guardian Angel be? 

With all thy faults I love the still, 
Little darling, dream of me. 

Where the sweet magnolia's grow, 
A light in the window I see, 

Down by the old mill stream, 

There's someone waiting for me. 

Now I lay me down to sleep. 

When the quiet moon is beaming; 

Dreamy eyes that haunt me still, 
'Tis ever of thee I am dreaming. 

The song that reached my heart, 
Oh, sing again that gentle strain; 

'Tis evening brings by heart to thee, 
Some day I'll wander back again. 

'Twas hard to leave the old home. 

Ten years in Cherry Hill; 
I was despised because I was poor; 

Poor, but a gentleman still. 



Wait for the turn of the tide, 
The dawning" of another day, 

Wait till the clouds roll by, 

I'll come with the flowers of May. 

When the winter snows are o'er, 
The little white cot in the lane. 

Where the ivy g-rows so g-reen. 
Shall be thy sweet home again. 




HELL ON EARTH. 

(Written by a soldier who was stationed on the Rio Grande 
River in southern Texas. This piece was criticised by Mr. 
Duncan Cumming-s, "D. C," which I also give, and my reply to 
the criticisms of D. C . ) 

The devil in hell we're told was chained, 
And a thousand years he there remained, 
He neither complained nor did he g-roan, 
But determined to start a hell of his own. 
Where he could torment the souls of men. 
Without being- chained in a prison cell. 
So he asked the Lord if he had on hand 
Anything- left when he made the land — 
The Lord said yes; I had plenty on hand 
But I left it down on the Itlo Grande; 
The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor, 
I don't think you can use it as a hell any 

more. 
But the devil went down to look at the truck. 
And after examining it carefully and well, 
Concluded the place was too dry for a hell. 
So in order to get it off his hands. 
The Lord promised the devil to water the 

lands, 
For he had some water or rather some 

dregs, 
A regular cathartic and smelled like bad 

eggs. 
Hence, the trade was closed, the deed was 

given, 
And the Lord went back to his home in 

heaven. 

The devil said to himself, "I've all that is 
needed 



To make a good hell," and hence he suc- 
ceeded. 
He began to put thorns on all the trees 
And mixed up the sand with millions of 

fleas; 
He scattered tarantulas along- the road, 
Put thorns on the cactus and horns on the 

toad; 
He lengthened the horns on the Texas 

steer 
And put an addition on the rabbit's ear; 
He put a little devil in the bronco steed 
And poisoned the feet of the centipede. 
The rattle-snake bites you, the scorpion 

stings, 
The Musketo delights you with his buzzing 

wings; 
The sand-burs prevail and so do the ants. 
Those who sit down need half soles on their 

pants. 
The devil then said that throughout the 

land 
He'd manage to keep up the devil's own 

brand, 
And all would be "MAVERICKS" unless 

they bore 
Marks, scratches, bites and thorns by the 

score. 
The heat in the summer is a hundred and 

ten, 
Too hot for the devil and too hot for men; 
The wild boar roams through the black 

chaparral. 
'Tis a of a place, he has for a 

hell. 



TEXAS ON THE RIO GRANDE. 



(Dedicated to the trooper who wrote the original Texas on 
the RioGrande, by D. C) 

A soldier in blue, of Yankee type, 

On account of a spree was exceedingly ripe. 

He had snakes in his boots and frog's on 

his hands — 
It made him think of the devil's lands. 
The garrison liquor is very tough, 
And this private's spree was very rough. 
In his dreams he saw thorns on all the trees. 
His own gray-backs he took for fleas. 
The water by his breath was contaminated, 
And for this reason the pole-cat emigrated. 
The snakes in his boots began to bite, 
The frogs on his hands began to bore; 
In fact, he was so alfiredly tight, 
He bethought himself toguzzel some more. 
The devil he saw in all his dreams, — 
Hell formed a part of all his themes. 
He imagined himself the boss of hell. 
And for this he was suited exceedingly well. 
He said, "For fourteen dollars, I'll slave no 

more; 
I'll be a man and not a bore." 
Too late, for on him the devil was stuck 
And "Yank" he wheeled off in his butcher 

truck. 
When they reached the front door bell. 
The devil said: "That breath will decemi- 

nate hell; 
Go up above, give that breath air, 
And give me a chance to disinfect here." 

32 



Now he wanders about a refuse from hades, 
Chews vile tobacco 'neath the barrack's 

shades, 
Proclaiming- throug-hout this fair land 
That he is a MAVERICK for us to brand. 
On his hide we will place the iron hot 
For slandering- our state with his rhyming- 
rot. 
So that where'er he stops you'll know him 

well 
As a beer guzzler and a refuse from hell. 









33 



WRITTEN FOR THE CORNER DEDI- 
CATED TO D. C. IN REPLY TO HIS 
TEXAS ON THE RIO GRANDE. 

* * * * 

Bj' Jerry Newton. 

The soldier was right and D. C. is wrong-, 
I'll try to convince you — it won't take long-. 
Down where that soldier had to take his 

stand, 
The devil and his imps went hand in hand. 

If there's a hell on earth it must be where 
Frog-s, fleas and pole-cats your companions 

are; 
Where Billv-goats roam undisturbed at will, 
And "MAVERICKS" breed flies with a 

two-inch bill. 

Where the Jack-ass brays in deep basso, 

And the coyotes howl, a la profimdo 

With the panther's midnight lullaby 

scream! 
No wonder the soldier made hell his theme. 

Gray-back's for fleas no man would take, 
Especially a soldier ; that's a fake. 
And as for the pole-cat's emigration. 
He tired of drouths and poor irrigation. 

Admit him a soldier of "Yankee" type, 
Rio Grande grub even his stomach might 

gripe; 
Suppose he did guzzle little bit more. 
It was because his tripe was raw and sore- 
Tarantulas and snakes crawled in his boots, 
At the midnight hour when the big owl hoots 
And venemous reptiles abroad 'twould seem 
'Nough to make him think of hell in his 

dream. 



About that liquor, that garrison staff, 

It mig-ht have been smoothe it might have 

been rough, 
But where air is laden with pole-cat stink, 
A fellow might "SMILE" before he would 

think. 

When he wrote that poem he might have 

been tight, 
But his salary was small, his grub was light 
View the surroundings and his lonely lot 
Mantle with charity his rhyming rot. 

Just a few words more, you must bear in 

mind. 
The border was bare of the fair sex kind. 
InTexas,or elsewhere, without them — well, 
I think it would be enousfh of a hell. 




?-f\_'==:^^ 



35 



AN OLD AND MUSTY LETTER. 

(On a certain Sunday I was culling- over some old and mustj^ 
papers, and came across a letter from my first sweetheart; it 
dated almost back to antediluvian days. The same evening I 
« rote the following-;) 

I've an old and musty letter 
With pag-es soiled and torn, 

And the creases where it's folded, 
Are faded, frayed and worn. 

'Tis a letter from my sweetheart, 

She wrote me years ag"o; 
It is sprinkled o'er with tear-drops 

That often used to flow. 

Thoug-h the ink is now discolored. 
Yes, faded brown and bare. 

The contents are as fresh and sweet 
As when she wrote them there. 

In reveries of sweet solitude 

I culled my casket o'er, 
And found no trinket in that box 

That sweeter memory's bore. 

I found among- my sacred gems 
Mementoes rare and dear, 

But none I so much hallow, as 
That letter brown and sere. 

I traced ag-ain each faded line, 
To me she seemed so near, 

I felt the touch of long ago 
And brushed away a tear. 

A tender chord within m}" heart 

Responded to her own, 
I reached out for one fond caress — 

Her spirit then had flown. 

36 



'MIDST OF WINTER. 

* * :(: * 

(This poem was inspired by the adveut of a very cold 
norther, after we had been enjoying- many days of balmy 
weather. ) 

Before the icy wave came throug-h 
Some were so jolly, some so blue, 
But to all it can't be pleasing, 
Weather sunny or a freezing-. 

Plumbers now are all in clover, 
Bursted pipes the town all over, 
It is an ill wind don't you know, 
That luck to someone does not blow. 

It was a very pleasant thing" 
In 'midst of winter to have spring-; 
Birds carolling- their sweetest lays, 
V/hen we en joy 'd those balmy days. 

Grass and shrubb'ry were agreening", 
While warm days were intervening-, 
Buds and petals opening, peeping, 
Old Jack Frost was only sleeping. 

Merchants, they were sadly wailing. 
Winter goods were loss entailing. 
Wood and coal men growing weaker, 
Pray'd for northers colder, bleeker. 

And the ladies, sweet, precious things. 
Weather warm for them — too had stings. 
Such lovely furs, so costly, some, 
Were packed away in camphor gum. 

The tourist 'mongst us loved to roam, 
Far from his icy, snow-clad home; 
He thought it was the queerest thing, 
In midst of winter to have spring. 

37 



E'en the burro, camly grazing-, 
Thoug-ht the weather quite amazing; 
Billy-goat with flowing tresses. 
Woo'd the sunbeam's warm caresses. 

Man with cakes, and his frozen cream, 
Then realized his fondest dream. 
And the ice-man^he'd begin-ter 
Freeze his water here in winter. 




38 



DO YOU REMEMBER YET, JACK? 

* * * * 
Ah, well do I remember yet, 

The trysting- place we had, 
When you were only sweet sixteen, 

And I was just a lad. 

Down by the spring--house near the mill, 

Where we so often stray M, 
To watch the moss-clad wheel go round. 

Where rippling- waters played. 

We gazed into the limpid stream. 
When love-tales sweet were told, 

'Twas on your finger then I placed 
A little band of gold. 

And how we waded up and down 

The g-ravel-bedded brook, 
And from the verdant banks we plucked 

Wild flowers from each nook. 

And when we often used to swing, 

Upon the g-rape-vine there. 
Before the silver threads had changed 

Those ringlets in your hair. 

How we beguiled the time away 

For hours, in purest bliss, 
Atid when I ventured first to ask 

For one sweet loving kiss. 

A rose-tint first bedecked your cheeks. 

And then a crimson hue. 
With pouting lips, you answered yes, 

I will Jack, just for you. 



AN ACROSTIC PRAYER. 

(With my wife I visited friends ou a certain evening-. A little 
g-irl at the place, on retiring for the niirht, kissed each of us good- 
night, and asl^ed me if I would write her a prajer I wrote for 
her the following, whicli she memorized and delivered at a Sun- 
day-school festival.) 

NOW it is sleep that o'er my weary eyelids 

creep: 
I pray Thee Lord while I repose my soul to 

keep. 
LAY me down to dream of Heavenly thing-s, 

not terrene, 
ME — for whom Thy love is all I could ask, I 

ween. 

DOWN from that Elysium reflect Thy 

heavenly sheen, 
TO lig-ht me through this nig-ht whilst it 

it doth intervene, 
SLP^EP with g-lcams of that realm through 

it difi'used, 
I know, dear Lord, must be what I have 

often mused. 

PRAY, hear my praj-er, Thou of felicity 

supreme, 
THPv-e beauties of Th}^ firmament shall be 

m_v theme. 
LORD may I ask sentinels from Thy angel 

band, 

MY Father, who in all things art Divinely 
grand. 

SOUL lives to ever praise and glorify Thy 
name, 

TO Thee, at last, 'twill be returned, whence 

it came. 
KEEP the gates, oh Lord, to Elysian fields 

afar, 
IF consistent with Thy will, standing just 

ajar. 



I will ask Thee now, dear Lord, in my 

humblest prayer, 
SHOULD Thy will be done, leave for me 

a passport there; 
DIE when I may, 'midst Etherial realms 

above, 
BEFORE Thy Mystic Shrine I pray to 

dwell in love. 

I may perchance, at times, the tempter's 

pathway stray, 
WAKE then my soul, dear Lord, to realize 

Thy way; 
I come to Thee to share Thy love and 

watchful care, 
PRAY help and g-uide my little footsteps 

'round each snare. 

THE-e winged Seraph's submissive to 

Thee profound, 
LORD, have them g-uard this stormy night 

my bed around, 
MY little brother, will you have them 

g-uard him too? 
SOUL, heaven-born, so pure, just as it 

came from you. 

TO Thee we'll go for eternal rest in heaven, 
TAKE our souls and make them pure, as 

they were given; 
GOOD Lord; now will you watchful be till 

daylights peep? 
NIGHT is so dark — I pray Thee constant 

vigil keep. 



WHAT SHALL WE NAME OUR 
BABY? 

* * * * 

(A lady friend put the question to me: "What shall we 
name our baby?" which induced the following poera.) 

Our baby has brig-ht flaxen hair, 

And eyes of azure blue; 
A girl with chubby dimpled cheeks 

Of a lovely ruby hue. 

What shall we name the baby? is 

The topic of each day. 
Uncles, aunts and sisters-in-law 

Have come to have their say. 

Mother-in-law claims all the right — 
(I believe they always do,) 

For a departed sister, she 
Would call the baby Sue. 

Her grand-ma's name she so admired, 

Samantha Precilla Jane, 
She lived a life unsmirched and pure, 

Without a single stain. 

They called her Percy, sometimes Jane, 
'Twould suit the baby well; 

But wife and I sugg-ested that 
We call her Florence Belle. 

Masculine names our mother said, 
And sometimes male attire 

Girls wear; and also that she had 
An Uncle Hezekiah. 

I then broke out all in a sweat. 

This set my brain afire — 
She thoug-ht to modify it some, 

Sug-g-ested plain Mariah. 

42 



Now something- nearer up-to-date 
Would suit my wife and me, 

Ag"ain I ventured; made it short — 
Just simple Rosalie. 

In retrospective mood she sat, 
(My mother-in-law I mean,) 

She whispered, as the tear-drops came, 
"Dorothy Patience Green." 

"She was a maiden aunt of mine, 

An ang-el now I'm sure, 
For her let's call the bab}'- Bob, 

She was so good and pure." 

'Tis folly I I'd as well give up; 

I must to work away, 
I'll gratify my mother-in-law. 

And let her have her say. 

If it will make her old heart g^lad. 
And mind in sweetest frame, 

I'm satisfied, for wife she gave. 
And babv she shall name. 



i\^ 



THAT FACE I'VE SEEN BEFORE. 

* * * * 

There gfleams from my most sacred days, 
Now rich bright rays of yore, 

While I indulg-e in glances at 
The face I've seen before. 

Those gentle, soft, expressive eyes 

Retain some lustre yet, 
Through all the fates that lured me on, 

I could not them forget. 

How much t'has chang-ed since last I saw 

That sad sweet face before. 
The hand of time had not then marred 

The beauty lines it bore. 

The cheeks are wan, the tint is gone. 

Her locks as white as snow. 
But plays there something 'round that 
face 

That echos — lonof aa^o. 



THE GIRL Mc. LOVES. 

>i< >i< ^ ;}c 

Well, now, she's a dandy, 

And she dresses in blue, 
She has rose-tinted cheeks 

Of a delicate hue. 
She's eleg-ant — racy. 

Just a specimen rare, 
And the best of it all 

She has money to spare. 

Her fig-ure's not gfainly. 

She's yard and half round, • 
Measures six and half feet. 

And weig-hs many a pound; 
She is bow-leg-ged, too, 

And her feet is toed in; 
With all these afflictions 

She's as neat as a pin. 

Her hair's a little off, 

'Twixt a blond and a red, 
She's beautifully bald 

On the top of her head. 
Her eyes are both crossed — 

Has a lovely pug- nose. 
And she pens up her calves 

In a pair of red hose. 

Both her feet and her mouth 

Are immensely immense; 
Her head is lop-sided. 

But she seems to have sense; 
Her ears stand away out 

Like two cellar doors; 
Its a "jar" when she sleeps 

To hear how she snores. 

45 



Very often he takes her 

To the Cafe Saloon, 
When on one of their strolls 

By the dark of the moon. 
Oysters on the half shell, 

Or a fry, bake or stew. 
He says, tickles her palate 

Most exceedingly, too. 




MY EXPERIENCE AS AN APPREN- 
TICE. 

* * * * 

(Scene, Little Rock Office, 1868.) 

When left in charg-e one day at noon 

Alone, to hold the fort, 
I felt a yearning-, uncontrolled 

To tackle noon report. 
Some occult power kept pricking- me. 

Which I could not subdue. 
With alternating joy and fear 

My courage came and fiew. 
Sun-clad fancies gleamed so bright 

Of honors and of fame. 
But my verdancy was tristful 

'Fore welcome 30 came. 
'Twas up to me; L. R. was called, 

This gave my nerves a "jar," 
A chilly rig-or seized me, when 

I answer'd, I. I. L. R. 

I started up my register. 
The paper went askew, 
I broke— with waning confidence 

But started up anew. 
The sender was an artist rare, 

And forty words at least 
Per minute, he was sending, and 

It seemed his speed increas'd. 
The moments kept on leng-thening out, 

Each filled with fears galore. 
By desperation g-oaded on, 

I tore my hair and swore. 

47 



I mopped the cold beads from ray brow, 

As dots and dashes flew, 
And like a piece of marble stood 

With face of livid hue. 

Six hundred yards of paper soon 

Was reeled off on the floor, 
Oh! phantoms of that fateful day 

Will haunt me evermore. 

Thoug-h five and thirty years have gone, 
My locks with gra}' are strewn, 

I see myself in Little Rock 
Taking press report at noon. 



48 



A GLIMPSE. 

By fond recollection 

All the past is ag-low, 
My joys and my sorrows, 

Tears and smiles come and g-o. 
As I retrace the path 

Then my soul is attune — 
I hallow the byg-ones 

And with you commune. 

Brig-ht beacons of splendor 

Throug-h the corridor beams, 
While they flash to and fro 

I am with you it seems; 
In fancy I picture 

Over expanse so drear, 
A vision most perfect — 

Then your spirit draws near. 

A g-limpse of the haunts 

Where often we strolled, 
Throug-h the flower}' wild wood 

Of nature's own mould, 
Just sweetens the present, 

And sad solitude's way 
As eventides g"list, 

Is fast fading- away. 

And thoug-h time with his wand 

Leaves a lasting- imprint; 
Has silvered ni}- brown locks 

Vv^'ith his mag-ical tint. 
Still I vie with the fates 

As the da3's come and flee, 
To see what the future 

Holds, for you love and me. 

49 



A DETECTIVE'S EXPERIENCE. 

I met her on a train one day, 

Her fluency was g-rand; 
Possessed near all the attributes 

To make a conquest stand. 

Her equipoise was balanced well, 

Epitomized no where. 
Epidermis like a baby, 

An Erudite quite rare. 

Her voice was so euphonious. 

And ful] of eulog-isms, 
A true extemporizer, and 

Up on a.11 the isms. 

Her tout-ensemble seemed to be 

Of very perfect mould. 
And her phrases, most facetious, 

Were modern — never old. 

Her eyes, at times, moved stealthily, 
He sternum rose and fell. 

In extemporizing" efforts — 
This superfluent swell. 

She sized me up as swainish-like. 

As swartiuess implied. 
But, "O tempora, O mores;" 

When my object she descry'd. 

She expostulated freely. 
With stratag-em and wiles, 

Detective— I had shadowed her 
For many hundred miles. 



WHERE FROM, LITTLE STRANGER? 

:)< ^ >(: * 

(Complimentary to my niece, Mrs. W.F. Bracy, nee Newton, 
on the advent of her first born. 

I came from heaven, at nig-ht time, 

By all but God unseen, 
To nestle in your fond embrace, 

To reign your baby Queen. 

I came down through the little stars, 
And by their shooting- rays, 

I slipped through little rifts in clouds. 
To love you all your days. 

I came without my little wings, 
But dimpled cheeks and chin. 

And chubby little hands and feet. 
With rosy-tinted skin. 

I came to help you while away. 
Sometimes, the tedious hours, 

To woo the kiss that's born of love, 
As sun-glints woo the flowers. 

I came to share your tears and smiles. 

As little Angels do, 
To love you when the weight of years, 

Has worn and withered you. 



51 



OUR ASPHALT DRIVES, PARKS, Etc, 
(a little boquet for our mayor.) 

* * * * 

To his vim we're much indebted 

For this asphaltiim boon, 
And his road to other glories 

His acumen has hewn. 

The moss-grown paths we used to tread 

In our benighted ways, 
Are now asphalted thoroughfares 

Where beams electric rays. 

Our parks in all their grandeur, due 

To his esthetic tastes, 
Once olid mires bestrewn with grim. 

Deserted barren wastes. 

Through his benign and thoughtful mind 
Improvements 'round us grew, 

No fleering flaunts, of flagrant deeds 
Unbiased minds imbue. 

We'll quaff the amber fluid now, 

To him who has bequeath'd 
These monuments, in gratitude; 

His brow with laurels wreath'd. 



52 



CAN I TELEGRAPH TO HEAVEN? 



(Scene, Western Union Telegraph Office, San Antonio, Texas.) 

"Do the wires reach to heaven?" 

A little tot inquired, 
I faltered, then answered, "no, dear — " 

With pity's touch inspired. 

"I'd like to send a telegram," 

(With tear-dimmed eyes he sig-hed) 

" To my Mamma, and my Papa, 
I'm lonely since they died." 

" I wish to let my Mamma know 

How cheerless it is here, 
And how I miss the g-ood-nig-ht kis^ 

Of her and Papa dear." 

" And then I'd like to tell her how 
My frocks are soiled and torn, 

About this old untidy hat 
And how my shoes are worn." 

" And all about the golden curls 
That once adorned my hair, 

They're so unkempt and tangled now 
No one to give them care." 

"And how last Christmas came and went. 

And not a single toy 
Was left by Santa Claus, for her 

Poor little blue-eyed boy." 

"And I would like for her to ask 

If God will take me there. 
Where I could kneel once more, for her 

To hear my little prayer." 

"Take me to your breast, dear Mother, 

I feel that you are near, 
Twine again your arms around me, 

For I'm so lonely here." 

S3 



WE ARE COMRADES, JOHN. 

:^ ^^c 5jc ;}c 

Yes! comrades, John, for thirty years. 

Not in the usual way, 
Comrades, thoug"h we have never met, 

This may seem strange to say. 

You've worked one end — I the other, 

Of a circuit all these years. 
We've shared our joys — the fates be- 
stowed, 

Our sympathys and tears. 

We both are g^rowing- shaky, John, 

Our MORSE is not so clear, 
And not so musical as when 

Our cups were full of cheer. 

Our dashes are of weary leng-th. 

Our spaces uncontrolled. 
Our punctuation incomplete, 

Our touch is not so bold. 

You always make six dots for H, 

Eight for the letter S, 
But the alphabet is growing- old. 

We too are, John — I guess. 

I will not chide you further, John, 

Alas! 'tis too my fix. 
When H or P I try to make, 

I always make a six. 



SOME LITTLE SELECTIONS. 



* * * 



■often ask me to write for the^ A le ^^y^ services, with the 
friends have ^nnsted my sympa ^^^^^ expressions to 

assurance that thej- desired a le^u^^^^ .^^ ^^^^, ^.,ves. 

S^rr^/suspi"-"-^^^^^^^ 

To Nellie: 

Take this trinket, take it darling. 

Just as a talisman to wear, 
'Tis an emblem ^earmg with it. 

Love-sweets I have culled with care. 

With it comes my vows repeated, 
None have ever yet been broken. 

Symbol of my soul's devotion, 

Wear it dear as love's sweet token. 

To Daisy: 

Time is waning, almost a year 

Since first we chanced to meet. 
Fortune smiled, it was fate's decree 
That made this life so sweet. 

To Emma: 

Please accept this deary, 

As one bright little gleam 
Which is flashed from my heart 

With my love and esteem. 
Mav rays of contentment 

Make the shadows retreat, 
That hang over life's way 

To alloy the sweet. 

To Helen: 

'Tis sweet to have some one to love. 

If sweet, that love's returned, 
Thenleeds of two loves burst and grow 
Like flowerets that are urned. 



55 



IN A GARDEN RETREAT. 

* ^: * * 

Where a whippoorwill sang- 
By a brig-ht golden moon, 

And with silver-clad stars 
The heavens were strewn. 

'Neath beautiful rose-vines 

In a g-arden retreat, 
I reveled in reveries 

And soliloquies sweet. 

Surrounding-s embellished 
In nature's quaint ways, 

And gilded with moon-beams 
Fairly dazzled my gaze. 

Through foliage the zephyrs 

Played eolian airs, 
And sprite elfins with lutes 

Swept away all my cares. 

Choice redolent flowers. 
Softly dappled in hues, 

All blending together 

Made more dainty my muse. 

And dreams more prolific, 
Thrilling fancies replete, 

Unfettered, unbroken, 
Unbeguiled and complete. 

Now fairy-like footsteps 
(Of a loved one in quest; 

I hear tripping the sward — 
Just imagine the rest. 



WHEN I THINK OF YOU. 

At even-time when sun-beams wane, 
And with their splendor all imbue, 

'Tis then I wander down the aisle 

Of time, to sip some sweets with you. 

And when that orb with rays at morn, 

Caresses all the earth anew, 
And woos to life the tend'rest flower, 

I long- and wish then love for you. 

At noon-time when the busy world, 

Unmindful of ties old or new. 
Is rushing- on, my musings sweet, 

In fancy flig^hts g-o back to you. 

When moon-beams shed their mellow rays 
O'er all the earth, of g-olden hue. 

In retrospect I live again 

The days, now sacred, passed with you. 

When little stars shed silvery lig"ht, 
And sip the crystal drops of dew, 

I sit where we so oft have sat. 
In sweetest reveries dear of you. 

And when I stray sweet dream-land's way. 
My dreams all things but one eschew, 

Yes, all but one, but that's replete. 
Because I only dream of you. 



OUR CITY DADS. 

* * * * 
There's our Mayor, quite complacent, (Marshall Hicks) 

At the helm of our ship, 
Though the bark is heavy ladeu, 

He'll safely make the trip. 

And his bland but firm Recorder (W. C. Kroeger) 

Wears justice on his frown, 
You could not find a truer man 

In this city of renown. 

Next comes our little saw'd off Ed. (Ed. Steves) 

Who's honest phiz depicts 
That as long as he's Collector, 

He'll monkey with no cliques. 

Ah! plain old Joe. He's quite Divine, (Joe Devine) 

Assessor suave and true. 
For one that doesn't render right 

He wouldn't give a sou. 

The man that handles all the cash, (Benno Engelke) 

(Our Treasurer now I mean) 
Turn on the calcium when you please. 

You'll find his record clean. 

Next comes our worthy Auditor; (Vint James) 

Now, who don't know old Vint, 
He'll keep the records up in line 

By magic of his dint. 

The legal limb of this combine 

Will make his presence felt, 
But justice tempers every act 

Of worthy George Altgelt. 



I've scanned the list of Aldermen, 
They're men of brains and grit, 

And when the City needs their aid- 
Well, they will never quit. 

The Mayor in selecting help 
Must have worked some ruse; 

What an excellent haul he made 
In landing- Captain Druse ! 



(City Marshal) 




59 



A RAP AT OUR DOOR. 

* * * * 

(Complimentary to mj- friends Mr. and Mrs. J. L. Little, on 
the adrent of a bright-eyed boy.) 

We heard a feeble little rap 

Not long' ag"o one nig-ht, 
We ope'd the door and let him in, 

A LITTLE cherub bright. 

'Twas just one week ago to-day 

This bab}^ ang-el came 
To bless our hearts and cheer our home; 

He's little like his name. 

Has cutest eyes of ebon hue, 

And hair as black as jet; 
With ruby lips, and cheeks and chin 

As plump as babies get. 

But there's contention in our home; 

Some say he looks like ma. 
But papa thinks his lineaments 

Are marked just like his pa. 



60 



MOTHER'S KISS OF LONG AGO. 

:i< ^ ^ sj; 

'Twas sweet to hear the music then 

Of sister's careless g"lee, 
And my brother's childish prattle 

Broug-ht melody to me. 

I prized the g-entle pressure of 
Their loving-, fond caress. 

But my Mother's kiss was dearest. 
Sweeter than all the rest. 

My tiny lips turned eagerly 

To meet its soft salute, 
'Twas g-iven with an earnestness 

That scaled the givers mute. 

I loved it quite unconsciously, 
And from that hour to this, 

I ne'er have found a sweeter thing 
Than Mother's loving kiss. 

It was e'er my richest g-uerdon 
Some childish lesson o'er, 

With wildly gushing joyousness 
That will visit me no more. 

Ah! my young- heart overflowing 

With fulness of its bliss, 
I flew to claim the promise of 

Her proud and loving kiss. 

And when at length I'd weary grown 

Of rollicking- all day, 
I sought repose in balmy sleep. 

And surcease from my play. 

61 



When my vesper hymn was over 
Aud evening- prayer was said, 

The curtains closely g-athered by 
Her hands around my bed. 

The fervent pressure of that kiss 
As my eyes began to close, 

Shed o'er my rest brig-ht rosy dreams, 
For calm and sweet repose. 

And even when a wanderer 
From love enchanted home. 

That kiss in memory held its place 
No matter where I'd roam. 

When the twilig-ht shadows g-ather 
Around life's closing- scene, 

And we feel that we are leaving- 
This earth and things terrene. 

The heart then wanders backward, and 

'Tis sorrowful to miss 
The accents of that sweet g-ood-night, 

And Mother's loving- kiss. 






62 



BALANCING A QUAD, AND THE 
TERMS USED. 

* * * * 

(To the uninitiaird they see ai odd. A beg-iiiner's experience.) 

The distant office called me up, 

Requested me to ground; 
I dallied with the strang-e device 

With feelings quite profound. 

"Come in," his next request seemed g"ruff, 
I thoug-ht it smacked of scoff; 

However, I complied, then heard: 
"Your tap seems to be off." 

"A leak," he said, "there is somewhere;" 

But I did not retort, 
Then he abrubtly ventured, "that 

My long end might be short." 

This ruffled me, but I kept mum 

And hummed a little song; 
To my chagrin he told me "that 

My short end might be long." 

Suggested that my margin, was 

Entirely too weak, 
And said: "Re-plug 3rour rheostat, 

Perhaps you'll find a leak." 

"Your P. C. breaks up common side; 

In language now more terse: 
"I only get you from one pole ; 

It don't seem to reverse." 

To my relief the chief came in — 

I really felt subdued — 
His gen'rous and consoling air 

Made things more rosy-hued. 

63 



THEY ARE WAITING MOTHER. 

* * :•: * 

(This poem was inspired by a death-bed scene.) 

Hark! the ang-els now are calling- 
From their elysian home above, 

They will soon transport me Mother, 
Oh! g-ive me now your sweetest love. 

Do you see the little angels 

Far away and yet so near? 
They are waiting- to receive me 

In that brighter, happier sphere. 

See the doors are standing open 
To that celestial home up there. 

Cherub ang-els, waiting-, watching; 
For my soul they're offering- prayer. 

Bring dear Father to my bed-side, 
I would kiss his furrow'd brow; 

Let me brush away his tear-drops, 
I cannot stay much longer now. 

Kiss me Mother, kiss your darling, 
Ang-els bright are drawing- near. 

I must leave you, they are waiting-. 
Please do not weep, oh! Mother dear. 

They're coming nearer, hov'ring o'er me. 
As darkness now more denser grows; 

Pray, as none can but a Mother, 
As I'm passing to sweet repose. 

This darkness must be death I'm sure, 
So clouded seems my every view; 

Come up nearer, sit close by me. 
And let my last look be at you. 

Now, I'm g-oing-! farewell Mother! 

Just tell them all good-bye once more, 
One more kiss, then soon in heaven 

Where my sufferings will be o'er. 



HISTORY OF THE TELEGRAPH. 

>(; ^ ^c ^ 

On board the old Steamship "SULLY," 

In eighteen thirty-two, 
From Havre to New York City, 

Many were coming- through. 

Samuel Fmley Breeze, was 

Most noted on the vessel, 
Then v/ith electric telegraph 

He began to wrestle. 

His appeals for aid were in vain 

Till eighteen forty-three. 
When the congress of our country 

Listened to his plea. 

They voted him a paltry sum; 

Thirty thousand dollars. 
To prosecute experiments — 

See what quickly follows. 

In early days, it was the year 

Of eighteen forty-four; 
From the City of Washington 

To that of Baltimore 

The first electric wire upon 
Substantial poles was strung. 

Then praises to his glorious name 
Were often fitly sung. 

An alphabet Vail then arranged, 

Spaces, dots and dashes. 
Which Morse wafted over the wire 

By electric flashes. 

65 



upon Miss Annie Ellsworth, he 

Bestowed the living- fame 
Of enditing- the first messag-e 

That ever went or came. 

She selected "What hath God Wrought;" 

Words so sweetly fitted, 
And this was the first messag-e, that 

Ever was transmitted 

By an electric current, then 
His g-rand success was sealed 

And for toilers by the thousand. 
He opened up a field. 




IN MEMORY OF JERRY OBERFELL. 

* ;^ =1: ^ 

A friend of mine was looking forward to the time when he 
would have parental oblierations thrust upon him, he said it 
mattered not whether the charg'e he male or female, he would 
name it Jerry. The advent brought to life one of the sweetest, 
dearest little girls it has ever been m}' pleasure to gaze upon. 
The little soul was too heavenly for this life. 

'Tis dreamless sleep now you slumber, 
Heavens banners o'er you furled, 

Little eyes of brig-htest luster 
Are closed forever to this world. 

Little good-night prayer for mother, 
"Now I lay me down to sleep" 

At my knees I hear you lisping-, 
Fills my soul with anguish deep. 

And when tossing in my slumbers 

Your little face I often see, 
Round my pillow flits an angel. 

Darling baby, it must be thee. 

Of the kiss that ouce was g-iven. 
Memory, sweets will ever yield, 

Little lips so pure and dainty, 
Evermore in death are sealed. 

Little darling- rest in heaven, 

Now free from all this earthly pain. 

Little spirit, oh, so weary! 

It could not long-er here remain. 

Tiny little soul exhausted. 

Death came in and gave it rest. 

Tiny hands so sweetly folded 
Across your tired little breast. 

Sleep on Jerry, little namesake. 

Though your spirit will always live, 

Mem'ry reaching- back to bygones. 
Sad, sweet reveries e'er will g-ive. 



TELEPHONE PERPLEXITIES, 

* * * * 

Hello, Central! one hundred please. 

They're occupied just now. 
Really, this is perplexing-; 

Who's talking-, anyhow? 

Our rules are non-elastic, and 
I could not tell from choice. 

But I will venture (Please don't tell) 
It is a lady's voice. 

Heavens ! I wonder who it is 
That's talking- to my Frank ! 

I will wager my existence 
It's that old Jennie Swank. 

Hello, forty ! Here's one hundred 
Hello! Who's at the phone? 

'Tis the office boy. Madam — 
In fitting, blandest tone. 

Kindly call your Mr. Jones. 

Hello! Is that you Frank? 
Yes, Madam; who is it talking. 

Your voice is almost blank. 

Be good enough to shake your phone; 

You seem way under ground ; 
Can it be a spirit talking. 

Or someone here around? 

Why, Frank, you are a naughty boy ! 

Your voice comes full and clear. 
Was that Miss Swank who was talking 

To you, just now, my dear? 

68 



Well, I'm sorry I can't get you; 

Listen, I'm sixteen to-day, 
Do come around at eig"ht P. M. 

And hear what I've to say. 

In my fitful slumbers last nig-ht — 

I had a pleasing- dream. 
That you would come this evening-, Frank? 

And take me out to cream. 




TO MY WIFE. 

* * * ;•: 

Now, twenty years have flitted by 
Since we stood at the altar rail, 

But well do I remember you. 

In travelling- suit and wedding* veil. 

The flowerets at your bodice then 

Sweetest reveries now beget, 
Thoug-h they have faded long- ag-o, 

They are fresh in memory yet. 

We've had some festive times, 'tis true. 
And, too, we've had some poig-nant tears. 

Some shadows have crept o'er our way, 
Throug-h all these weary — happy years* 

We've passed the line upon the hill, 
Our locks now fast are g-rowing- g"ray. 

And down the incline hand in hand. 
We are journeying- on our way. 

'Tis pleasing, thoug-h — this retrospect, 
(For in our hearts love's long- been 
shrin'd). 

As rays shoot back o'er sacred days 
Where lives around each other twined. 



THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 

* * * :f: 

(In reading this poem please observe the language of certain 
flowers that follows.) 

Silent impressive lang-uag-e of flowers, 
Good food for thought to while away hours, 
When one receives a chilly billetdoux 
That fills all life with a doubtful hue. 

In lang-uag-e of flowers I often muse 
When such cold epistles I peruse. 
My feelings here below I beg" to quote. 
Of the language of flowers please make 
note. 

In long weary hours I have worried much, 
Endeavoring her heart of stone to touch, 
And from pangs of anguish to be free, to 
Pave my way to an "Everlasting Pea." 

Live in "Flowering Almond" as it were; 
She's not "Ambrosia" if ev'r very rare; 
She's "Austutium" in its every phase, 
And so grand a beauty on which to gaze. 

She is the object of my "Amethyst," 
But her sympathy seems I can't enlist; 
If she would only say I'll have "Allspice," 
Ohl love, thou art indeed a strange device. 

I often ask her not to "Belvedere," 
And not to cause another bitter tear, 
She then quickly bids me "Belladonna;" 
This request, though painful, I must honor, 

I'm her "Peach Blossom" now, and all the 

time, 
In any country, or in any clime; 
She's a "Sultan White, "by no means yellow. 
And enough to craze most any fellow. 

71 



Truly she's an "Indian Pink Double," 
But ceases not to increase my trouble; 
She fills my aching- heart, quite full of 

"Yew," 
And keeps me ever in a constant stew. 

She's a "Musk Cluster Rose" in fullest 

sense, 
Her bewitching- smiles are quite immense; 
When I offer her a "Red Double Pink," 
Her reply is a saucy little wink. 

"Verbena Pink" I long- to make with her; 
That "Wood Sorrel" will not be mine I 

fear — 
Her often repeated "Pigeon Berry," 
Keeps me in a frenzy and a query. 



Key to the Laxguage of Flowers Referred to Above: 

Everlasting- Pea Lasting- Pleasure. 

Flowering Almond Hope. 

Ambrosia Love Returned. 

Austutium Splendor. 

Amethyst Admiration. 

Allspice Compassion. 

Belvedere I Declare Against You. 

Belladonna Silence. 

Peacli Blossom I'm Your Captive. 

Sultan White Sweetness. 

Indian Pink Double Alwaj's Lovely. 

Yew Sorrow. 

Musk Cluster Rose Charming. 

Red Double Pink Pure and Ardent Love. 

Verbena Pink Family Union. 

Wood Sorrel Joy. 

Pigeon Berry Indifference. 



TO MY SISTER, BELLE : 

* * * * 

(This poem was written thirty years after I kissed mj' only 
sister g'ood-bye, in 1866). 

Now thirty years, since last we met, 
Have gone behind the screen; 

Loved one's sisters too have passed 
From off this sphere terrene. 

Then I was one and twenty years, 

And you were scarcely two; 
Ah, well do I remember, dear. 

Those curls of amber hue. 

Those ruby lips, that dimpled chin. 

Those eyes of azure blue. 
That baby prattle once I heard; 

Mem'ry to all is true. 

The fickle fates that lure us on, 

Sometimes illusions play, 
And tempt us from our loved ones too. 

As oft our hopes decay. 

The curtain I have drawn aside 

'Twixt now and long- ago, 
I gaze adown the aisle of time 

While gleams flash to and fro. 

While I am looking far aback 
Through mists of many years. 

There comes the joyous mingling then. 
With that which tempts my tears. 

But I love to muse and wander 
Back to those hallow' d days. 

When last I saw you, sister, dear. 
In cute and cunning ways. 

'Twas when your tiny lips began 
To lisp that sweetest prayer; 

" Now I lay me down to sleep," 
A cherub Angel there. 

73 



TO MY LADY FRIENDS. 

* * * * 

(Many years apo, on a certain eveninp, three lady friends 
Tisited our home. (Jne of them ^jave nie a i)ansy blossom, one a 
piece of fern, the other a violet.) 

To the first I gave: 

Yes, only a pansy blossom 

Real sweet, if not so rare, 
'Tis emblematical of thought — 

Thinking- of one as it were. 
Heartiest thanks are returned. 

With them — real good will; 
The pansy, I assure you. 

Will remain — with me still. 

To Ihe second: 

I tender you my thanks 

For the nice piece of fern. 
In the emblem of which 

I quite clearly discern 
Sincerity, a trait 

Sweet as any from God, 
And as lovely a plant 

As e'er sprang from the sod. 

To the third: 

Now last, but not least, 

Comes the violet sweet. 
As with the donor 

It is hard to compete. 
Faithfulness, the emblem, 

In itself is divine; 
The violet and emblem 

In their beauties entwine. 



SOME ACROSTICS. 

;(; ^; >(c >{; 

As the days are coming-, g^oing-, 
Nothing- but love you are sowing; 
Nourished by your sunny smile, 
I can be happy all the while 
Even though others should revile. 



Another. 



So, my dear little girl, you're sweet sixteen; 
Onward to womanhood, too fast I ween. 
Pause on the threshold and look out afar; 
Home of sweet childhood keep portals ajar. 
I bid you God speed, may he bless ev'ry 

year. 
E'en down to old age, when life has grown 

sere. 



Another. 



Elven thoug-h your teens you've just left 

behind. 
Lost to you forever, years of that kind. 
Enchanting- mem'ry may be so complete, 
Culling- your teens o'er, may reveries make 

sweet. 
Take not of sorrow, make weeping- un- 
known; 
Alas! if you do weep, you'll weep all alone. 



75 



IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER 
CHARLEY, 

* * * * 

WHO DIED IN FRANKFORT, KY., NOVEMBER 
30th, 1901. 

V/e fondly nursed the same sweet breast, 
That nurtured life's most tender years. 

And sipp'd the inspiration born 
Of mother's joys and mother's tears. 

The blood that trickled throug-h her veins, 
Gave to us life and tender care. 

Beside the same old chair we knelt, 
And learned tolispthe same sweet prayer. 

She taug-ht our baby lips to say, 

"I pray Thee Lord my soul to keep," 

The same sw'eet lullaby songs she sang-, 
That lured us oft to balmy sleep. 

And when in slumbers' sweet repose. 
She knelt beside our couch in prayer, 

And asked that Heaven's blessings shield 
Our little souls while sleeping there. 

But many years have passed away 
Since mother's tender love we knew; 

We've wept in sorrow long for her, 
And now, alas, we weep for you. 

The threads that bind us to this life 
Will soon be severed here in twain, 

And those that loved and miss you here, 
'Will join you there in bliss again. 



A LITTLE GIRL'S LAMENT. 

* * * * 

(On a cold and stormy night a little girl beg'ged me to go 
with her to look for her father, and if found to assist her in get- 
ting him home. The experience was a sad one, and elicited the 
following.) 

"The nig-ht is dark and chilly, too; 
Our fire is burning- low, 
Each brig"ht ember slowly dying- 
As moments come and g-o. 

"I've been running- down the sidewalk 
To meet him on the way, 
He said that he was coming- home 
Without the least delay. 

"Oh, why those hot and pearly tears 
That trickle down your cheek? 
And why that look of ang-uish now? 
Do tell me, mother, speak. 

"Please come and take the old arm-chair, 
I'll sit upon your knee; 
Let me kiss away the tear-drops 
That flow so full and free. 

"Do come to us now, papa, dear, 
And dry poor mother's tears; 
Her heart is overflowing with 
The bitterness of years. 

"I'll run down to the corner quick; 
There's rum across the way; 
I've no doubt I will find him there, 
I'll g-o without delay." 

Thinly clad for a stormy night. 
Her neck and arms were bare. 

But her little heart — truly brave; 
She found her papa there. 

77 



"Why, bless my soul, there is Minnie!" 
With outstretched arms he said: 

"What is poor mother doing-, dear? 
And has she any bread?" 

"We are both so cold and hung-ry, 
We've neither bread nor coal; 
And poor mother's heart is breaking-, 
Good, patient, tired soul. 

"Come papa, now, we will again 
Forgive you o'er and o'er; 
Just be brave, and we will help you; 
Please, papa, drink no more. 

"Come, I will take your dear old hand 
And lead you down the street 
Where mother waits, in anguish deep, 
With kisses you to greet." 

"God bless my child! and from this night, 
And all my future years 
I'll cause no pangs for mother's heart, 
Nor for my baby tears." 






THE DASH AND THE DOT, AND 

SOME THINGS WE HEAR ON 

THE WIRE. 



:f: >}c >J< ^ 



That Father Morse, 'tis the opinion of 
many. 
Adapted to alphabet the dash and the 
dot; 

But history makes claim, it is clearly de- 
fined, 

*That an inspiration of Vail evolved the 
plot. 

As they speed in and out, they every day 
tell us 
Of the world's many grave and laug-hable 
doing-s, 
Of marriag-es and births, of elopements 
and deaths. 
And don't forget lovers, their wooings 
and cooings. 

Of joys and misfortunes, and calamities 
dire. 
To and fro over the wire, as subtle as 
air, 
As messengers fleet these little characters 
fly- 
Time and space is no bar as their tidings 
they bear. 

They bring messages that stir tend'rest 
emotions; 

Advices of famine, people starving for 
bread; 

While the current speeds on, and the bright 
sparks fly out. 
The cold click of the sounder says, "Sis- 
ter is dead." 

79 



As theyr'e borne ou a flash, we hear "Moth- 
er is dead;" 

This touches my heart, and seems a 

prayer to inspire; 
With head bowed in sympathy, I take up 

my pen 
And copy the sad messag^e from letters 

of fire. 

In the stillness of night we hear, "Father is 
dead; 
Come; the funeral will be to-morrow at 
five." 
As death sealed his lips he feebly whis- 
pered these words: 
"Will Sister g-et here in time to see me 
alive?" 



*Vol 10, page 49, 6000 Years of Historj-. 



AS THE YEARS COME AND FLEE. 

* * * * 

(Dedicated to a friend who lost his entire family, a wife and 
three children, in the short period of two weeks They died of 
pneumonia.) 

Years have passed and furrows deep 

Mar my once smooth brow, 
Broken links in memory's chain 

Are being- welded now. 

In wandering- back I can't suppress 
The tears my eyesig-ht veils ; 

My journey finds many a spot 
That happiness assails. 

Mementoes, full of preciousness, 

Are strewn along- the way, 
x\nd buried 'neath a rift of years. 

Both sweets and bitters lay. 

Likn'd tog-ether by fondest ties. 

Each to my heart so near, 
Are precious g-ems, my casket holds, 

I've placed there year by year. 

In that time-worn box are letters 

Wrapped and tied so neat, 
And pictures of my baby boy, 

With chubby hands and feet. 

There are trinkets of my children. 
All of which to me are dear, 

And on a twig- my wife once cut 
A flower brown and sere. 



While reading- some old missive sweet, 

That time has faded o'er, 
I feel a something- creeping in 

That warms my soul once more. 

When sunbeams kiss the day g-ood-nig-ht, 

Out to their tombs I stray. 
Lingering- there our soul's attune, 

I pass the time away. 




82 



TIRED. 

'Irregular.) 

(A friend and mj'self were out on a certain evening- 
imbibing' soda waters and lemonades. About 11:49 p. m., he said 
he was very tired. I prevailed on him to sit down and rest while 
I wrote a few lines. This is what I said:) 

I am tired of working-, I am tired of play. 
And weary of eating- three meals a day, 
So tired of eating- always the same, 
And having- it caled by some other name. 

Weary of eg-g-s that long- have been dead, 
Exhausted with puddingy made from any 

old bread, 
Such repug-nance for butter — with whiskers 

laid bare. 
And rubber-crust pies I g-et here and there. 

Just think of hash — made from scraps of 

stale meat, 
And leather beefsteaks that I'm forced to 

eat; 
My dig-estive department rebels at the 

thoug-ht. 
For my teeth are all shattered I recently 

boug-ht. 

I am tired of absorbing- sour-mash dew, 
Oh, give me a pass at a warm oyster stew, 
(That is made up with milk, not water and 

chalk), 
And butter that's young and unable to walk. 

Tired of the opera and brig-ht leading- stars, 
Of smoking- cheroots instead of cig-ars; 
Weary of breathing- the same kind of air 
Wherever I g-o, it matters not where. 

83 



Just wearying- along- and have been for 

years, 
Tired of laughing and the mingling of tears. 
"Weary of deception, under policy's g-uise — 
To use it is wrong, to not is unwise, 

I think often of heaven and weary of that; 
Mystery's so deep, conclusions fall flat ; 
Tired of happiness — more tired of pain. 
It must be g-one over and over again. 

Tired of the turmoil— and this every day 

strife. 
The in's and the out's in keeping up life; 
AVeary of battling — just for food and for 

clothes. 
And wearing- DARNED socks, and calling- 

them hose. 

Tired of thinking- of the thing's that are 

gone, 
They never are off, they always are on ; 
So tired of the struggle — to barely exist, 
And thinking of good things that I have 

miss'd. 




84 



IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 

Thou art g-one to mystic regions, 
Etberial home of love supreme; 

Far beyond our comprehension, 
But of which we love to dream. 

Noble in each deed and action, 
'Midst temptations here unclean; 

Earned a home in that elysium 

Lighted by God's brig-htest sheen. 

Thoug-h we know it is illusion, 
It seems we almost see you there; 

Fancy you are in communion 

With happy spirits now in prayer. 

At morning-, evening-, noon and nig-ht, 
Memory wanders back to you, 

When your life so full of sunshine, 
Gave to ours the brightest hue. 

Gloom pervades each nook and corner, 
E'en the pictures on the wall; 

O'er our home, once bright and happy, 
There hangs a murky, gloomy pall. 

Compassion touched our loving hearts. 
We tried to soothe your fevered brow; 

While you suffered, we in anguish 
Wept in sorrow then as now. 

'Mongst the seraphs, are you hapi>y? 

Are your sufferings now all o'er? 
We can never cease our weeping 

For our loved one gone before. 

Near your tomb we love to linger 

'Round your home that is built of cla}^, 

And with tear-drops, born of sorrow, 
Nourish the flowers that fade away. 



85 



In my efforts to assist in advertising one of San Antonio's 
International Pairs I had the following- printed on my official 
envelopes: 

Come to the 1899 

San Antonio International fair, 

Oct. 28 to Nov. 9. 

t- ^ ^ ^ 

No doubt you've been to fairs before, 
And g-azed on beauties quite g-alore; 
I wish to say to one and all, 
We'll beat the best this coming- fall 

'Twill be unique in ever}^ phase; 
Quite up-to-date in grand displays 
Of nature's handiwork and man; 
We'll take the bak'ry leave the van. 

All premiums we'll promptly pay 
Spot cash, and with the least delay; 
Your confidence we'll not abuse; 
We'll work no rabbit's foot or ruse. 

Our sister across the Rio Grande 
Will join with us in heart and hand. 
To make our fair one of the best — 
Give us your aid, we'll do the rest. 

And while you're looking- o'er the fair. 
See our animal in his lair; 
The Western Union takes the cake — 
You'll find their animal wide awake 



'ROUND HER WINDOW THERE 
WERE ROSES. 

* * * * 

'Round her window there were roses, 

Sweet honey-suckle vines, 
And the ivy ever creeping* 

With little forked tines. 

'Twas a spot somewhat seductive, 

A charming- lovers' clime; 
On the zephyrs floated perfume, 

A place almost divine. 

I sat there, wrapped in rapture, 

Beneath her window sill, 
And sipp'd the inspiration born 

Of imag-ination's thrill. 

In solitude's soliloquy 

Fancies flew o'er my mind 
And by something- innate g-oaded, 

I dared to touch the blind. 

I found the slats were easy, too. 

Presto! and they chang-ed, 
And the scene was no illusion — 

My respiration g-ained. 

But my normal status rallied; 

What I saw was food for thoug-ht — 
'Twas a study rare in nature 

No teacher ever taught. 



87 



A LITTLE NONSENSE. 

s); :{< ;!< ^ 

(In-egular.) 

I once knew a widow on a suburban street, 
Stockings were never known to adorn her 

feet; 
She owned cats with the itch, a dog- with 

the mang-e, 
And sick chickens 'round that liv^ed on the 

rang-e. 

She kept a little store of g-eneral merchan- 
dise; 
She weighed her goods, she said, precise — 
Her scales were all right, yes, all rig-ht for 
her. 

If you got g'ood weight you felt so queer. 

She was then over forty well, possibh' three, 
But still she was giddy, away up in G; 
On her back yard gallery she slept on a cot, 
And dreamed of things she had forgot. 

She was a fiend on auctions, went to them 
all; 

Would buy any old thing, be it large or 
small; 

She was true to her promise — said it was 

a gift. 
That is if time — did not pass too swift. 

Her children are cross'd between French 
and Dutch, 

They are a gay quartette, very pious — not 
much; 

Only time they are good is when wrapp'd 

in sleep 
In their meal-sack gowns, when Angels 

peep. 



OLD YEAR, FAREWELL. 

>J; ^ :Jc :}c 

Written January 30,1898.) 

We pause on the threshold and backward 

we g"lide, 
For acts of our own we should no other 

chide, 
As the curtain is drawn and opens to view, 
Fates of the future stowed away in the new. 

We long- for the thing-s that with you have 
perished, 

Save only to mem'ry, yet living- and cher- 
ished. 

For enshrined in each heart are g-ems hid 
away, 

That will live on and on, be fates what they 
may. 

Your sunny-clad days, and your days filled 

with tears. 
Those of weal or of woe, of joys or fears. 
Bound tog-ether by ties that mem'ry will 

hold. 
As we chaug-e to the new and g-ive up the old. 

Sweet retrospection among- rarestof themes, 
Thoug-h shadows will creep over brig-htest 

of dreams, 
And sullen may ling-er, but there'll come 

a ray, 

At least now and then to help chase them 
away. 

Days of the New Year come and rapidly 

flee; 
The mists float aside and ourfancies go free; 
We hallow the thing-s that have pass'd out 

of view, 
And pine for the old while we take up the 

new. 

89 



WILL YOU FORGIVE ME NOW? 

>i; * * * 

Reverberations of the past 

Oft fill my soul, alack! 
The swing-iug- pendulum of time 

Sad echoes bring- me back. 

The harvest of my fickleness, 
My path with sorrows strew'd, 

And blazoned on the scroll of time 
Are mem'ries somber hued. 

Ah! this rivose and wrinkled brow, 
My recluse life has made; 

Not one refulg-ent gleam of hope 
My penitence has stayed. 

Locks g-rizzled by time's mag-ic tint; 

Unloved — almost unknown; 
Discordant with all nature 'round, 

I fain would now atone. 

Oh! break the bonds that fetter me 
By one kind word from you; 

Let one benign and sun-lit ray 
Awake my soul anew. 



A MOTHER'S LOVE. 

^ :J; ;;; ;;: 

How I love to live o'er in silent reflection, 
And ever will cherish in fond recollection. 
The days of my boyhood, and the old cot- 

tag-e home, 
And the love of my Mother where'er I may 

roam . 

'Tis a blessing- from heaven so simple and 

sweet, 
Still there's nothing- so g-rand, nor near so 

complete; 
What e'r may betide you as the years come 

and g"o, 
When all others forsake, it will be all 

aglow. 

As fresh dew-drops from heaven so pre- 
cious to me, 

Was a kiss from my Mother, so loving- was 
she; 

And memory flits backward with sorrow 
and joy. 

To the love of my Mother when I was a boy. 

From cradle to manhood, from first recol- 
lection, 

I loved and adored her, and soug-ht her 
protection; 

Even now that time's imprint has silvered 
my hair, 

I have never found a love with her 'si to 
compare. 

91 



As I glance backward to the home of my 
childhood, 

Beneath elms and oaks, where our cottage 

once stood, 
Tears curtain my eyes then, which I cannot 

restrain, 
And I long for a Mother's love, just once 

again. 

Through this valley of tears, in memory 

and dreams, 
I cherish that love lost now% forever it 

seems, 
For her spirit has flowm to that echoless 

shore, 
Where she will commune w'ith the angels 

e'er more. 



INDEX. 

PAGE 

Photograph Frontispiece 

Poems by Jerrj' Newton Title 

CopjTig'ht 2 

Dedication 3 

Preface 4 

Introductory 5 

Retrospection 6- 7 

Russell Sage 8 

Sieg-e of the Alamo 9-10 

Am I Dreaming-? U-12 

A Skeleton in the C loset 13 

Mrs. L. C. Baker 14 

Gleams of the Past 15-16 

The Gossipper 17-18 

New Year's Greeting's 19-20 

Take Back the RinjT You Gave Me 21 

My Jewish Friends (teleg-rams) 22-23 

I Still Cherish Thy Name 24 

My Old Record Book 25 

The Dude 26-27 

Poem — Name of Song's 28-29 

Hell on Earth 30-31 

Texas on the Rio Grande 32-33 

Reply to Texas on the Rio Grande 34-35 

An Old and Musty Letter 36 

' Midst of Winter 37-38 

Do You Remember, Jack? 39 

An Acrostic Prayer 40-41 

What Shall We Name our Baby? 42-43 

That Face I've seen Before 44 

The Girl Mc. Loves 45-46 

My Experience as an Apprentice 47-48 

A Glimpse 49 

A Detective's Experience 50 

Where From Little Strang-er 51 

Our Asphalt Drives, Parks, Etc. (A little Boquet for Our 

Mayor) 52 

Can I Teleg-raph to Heaven? 53 

We Are Comrades, John 54 

Some Little Selections 55 

In a Garden Retreat 56 

When I Think of You 57 

93 



Our City Dads 58-59 

A Rap at '.Our Door 60 

Mother's Kiss of Long Ago 61-62 

Balancing- a Quad — A Beginner's Experience 63 

Ttiey are Waiting, Mother 64 

History of the Telegraph 65-66 

In Memory of My Namesake 67 

Telephone Perplexities 68 69 

To My Wife 70 

The Language of Flowers 71-72 

To My Sister Belle 73 

To Three of My Lady Friends 74 

Some Acrostics 75 

In Memory of My Brother Charlie 76 

A Little Girl's Lament 77-78 

The Dash and the Dot and Some Things We Hear on the 

Wires 79-80 

As the Years Come and Flee 81-82 

Tired 83-84 

In Memory of a Friend 85 

Advertising theFair 86 

'Round Her Window There Were Roses 87 

A Little Nonsense 88 

Old Year Farewell 89 

Will You Forgive Me Now? 90 

A Mother's Love 91-92 

Index. 93-94 



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